


Anarshe Sonata

by SpiritWave



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Emperor! Killua, M/M, Politics, Power Dynamics, Prisoner of war! Gon, Sexual Tension, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6715861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritWave/pseuds/SpiritWave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gon is captured by the Yorbian Empire, he considers himself dead. He has failed Azia, and his first encounter with the Yorbian Emperor promises to be his last.  However, not all things are as they seem, and Emperor Killua is no exception to this rule. As Gon is elevated to the status of Guest of the Zoeldeyk Imperial Family, he finds himself consumed by Killua's world, and soon enough, by Killua himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anarshe Sonata

He remembers the sound of the storm cascading over the soil beneath his feet, the wetness of his clothes as they cling to his body, and the cold weight of steel on his shoulder as he gets ready to load another shot. His orders were clear: take out the general. Chop off the head, and the rest of the army dismantles.

They’d been on the battlefield for days, the fields stained with Azian blood – they had everything to lose.

He aims.

_Five._

The sound of the wind picking up haunts his every movement, his index finger trembling as the gust presses down on him. Azia was losing, and he was their last shot at victory.

_Four._

Deep breath – fingers steady.

_Three._

Rain on his back, the darkness of the overhanging clouds provides an evil comfort as they hide him from sight.

He stills his breath.

_Two._

The smell of nature assaulting his senses, covering for the rot and decay coming from the corpses feeding the once hallow grounds of Nayeak. Where strife went to rest.

_One._

 

 

 

_Pull._

 

 

 

He remembers the taste of the mud in his mouth, remembers the dampness of the chill on his face, the red warmth collecting on his temple and into his mouth as the pole swung across the side of his head.

\---

It’s not the water that wakes him up.

Gon can feel the droplets roll down his skin in ice-cold rivulets, stinging at the raw, open wounds on his body as they travel down his back.  The dirty water drips from him and onto the rags he had shaped into a bed, and he doesn’t make any noise. He doesn’t need to – the moaning in the other cells fill the silence of the dungeon. An unquiet moment of peace before his last in the vast darkness of his cell.

A bucket crashes against his side, knocking the wind out of him as a bark of unintelligible Yorbian is thrown at him, surely an order. Not that he can make sense of it. When he doesn’t comply, the bucket is back – one, two, three, four times – and then back to Yorbian gibberish.

He’s used to it.

He’d kept his mouth shut for three weeks and he wouldn’t start screaming now.

Gon barely even flinches.

A huff, and then a rag that smells of must is tied around Gon’s face, a makeshift blindfold of sorts. A pair of hands shove his head down to the floor – a performed display of strength – before they finish tying the rag around his eyes and secure his hands. His head still swimming from the impact, Gon feels himself getting pulled up, feet dragging (because maybe he can’t really struggle anymore but he can and _will_ make himself a burden to move) as he’s finally taken out of his cell.

The dull pain creaking in every inch of his body is nothing compared to the relief of finally feeling the sun on his face, the scent of morning dew and freshly baked bread and the sounds of day spreading around him, into him.

Three weeks.

Three weeks he’d been stuck in there.

He can hear whispering around him – _Neade Veyafra._ Yorbian for Desecrator of the Earth, the ultimate disgrace, enemies of the state, but more importantly, enemies of The Zoeldeyk Imperial family. Heathens in the face of God. Punished and forgiven only in the act of death.

It was the only Yorbian phrase that the army had ever taught him. Gon was instructed to smile when he heard it.

He didn’t.

It’s an eternity before Gon feels the stone flooring of the palace give way to lush carpeting, the softness a welcome change from the sensation of cold, damp death in the dungeon. The whispers stop, too, with only the maids being unable to hide their gasping at the sight of the man who had killed General Fei and General Uvo. He smiles then.

Accompanied by the movement of the trees, the kotoe strings plucking in the distance crafted a soft melody that permeated the halls of the castle, almost vibrating in his wounds. It was a song of relief after years of misfortune and war, a song that did not herald victory, but rather welcomed the newfound freedom in peace. Gon hums in appreciation. At the very least, he could die with the memory of the song.

Gon knew.

His release from the dungeon was nothing close to freedom. It was a short and fleeting fantasy. The final reprieve before the uttering of his death sentence, a death knell hiding among the skilled fingers of the kotoeist, playing a tune of peace before his neck was severed from the rest of his body.

It was only fair, Gon guessed.

He had killed their generals. He was an Azian soldier, a _Neade Veyafra._ And he was no traitor – he revealed nothing of his country, not out of love for it, but for the oath he had made – kept his mouth shut when his skin was being singed off in pieces, when the bones in his hands were split in half, when the nails on the beds of his fingertips were ripped off the skin, when water rushed into his lungs at the hands of the Yorbian. He’d kept his mouth shut, and for that, he would pay.

He’d done nothing for them, and they’d reached the end of their rope. He was essentially useless. Not important enough to function as a hostage, too loyal to function as a spy, too stubborn to give any information away.

He had no value anymore.

All that was left was to be put his neck against the knife, and that would be the end of it. Gon always knew he wouldn’t live past his thirties.

He chuckles a little bit at the thought – he barely made it to twenty-five. Gon always did seem to overestimate his own survivability.

The two guards holding him still completely halt, a reverent shout followed by the sound of them getting into formation – saluting whomever or whatever is in the room. Gon had seen the guards do it enough times before entering his cell to immediately feel his heartbeat pick up with the anticipation of pain. There’s a heavy creek of a door, probably leading to an oversized room where whoever is to decide his fate will take one look at him and shoo the guards away. And that would be it.

The end of his life – decided by someone who wouldn’t even spare him a glance.

Gon is pushed to the inside, both men screaming at his sides, and the blindfold is abruptly pulled off. Once again, he feels his face connecting to the floor with a hard crunch. The act has gotten a little stale at this point of his friendly stay in the Yorbian Empire, and he would roll his eyes if he could only actually feel them. He at least recognizes that the high quality of the lush vermillion carpeting makes for a more wholesome experience – the cold stone in the dungeon didn’t burn quite as much.

As the guards keep a fist on the nape of his neck and Gon’s ears stop vibrating, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The room feels frozen – sterile. The guards, loud and rambunctious and never getting enough of running their mouths around him, were holding their breaths as if afraid to disturb the stillness of the room. He still couldn’t see who was in front of them, but Gon could feel it –  the guards were awestruck. In fear. In adulation.

And then –

He speaks.

It’s a single word, and Gon can’t really tell what he’s saying – probably giving permission to speak – but one word is enough. The voice is smooth like marble, and it carries the weightless grace of someone who has been in power his whole life, someone who asks for tea wearing the same expression he uses to mandate an execution. A cold, hard edge to his tone – a whisper is enough to fill up the whole room and make him shudder, to make the guards tremble and force beads of sweat pile on their temples.

Power. The man commands all the power the Yorbian continent can offer him, and Gon is at his mercy.

It makes him furious.

He raises his head, snarling and scrambling to get off his feet – his tired body screams at him to stop but Gon wants, no, _needs_ , to get one good look at his face. If he’s going to die by his command – If the man won’t spare him a glance out of choice, Gon will, at the very least, _force_ him take one good, hard look at him.

At _him_ , whose failure to kill General Kurta had lost Azia everything.

Of course, he doesn’t make it very far. The man to his left kicks him in the stomach, making sure to hit his diaphragm so hard he immediately goes slack. The fingers at his neck are now in his hair, pulling so violently that Gon feels part of his scalp detach from his skull, and he can hear the swift pull of a sword cutting through the air, surely aiming for his neck.

Gon prepares for it, feeling the ghost of breath on his back, imagining how the sword will feel cutting through the skin on his nape, and he still can’t inhale properly, but he smirks as he realizes that at least he will be executed for threatening the royalty of the enemy, rather than for betraying his country.

The sword never comes.

Instead, the voice shoots from across the room again – short and crisp and so unbelievably loud for how quiet it was – the same sensation of sterile emptiness washing over him, but he registers something else in his voice – anger. Condescension. He’s been _offended._

Gon can’t fathom _why_ , but the men immediately drop him and bow, and Gon grunts gracelessly as he bounces off the floor. He can hear footsteps, just quiet enough to show the effortlessness of his gait, loud enough to remind Gon of where he is, and who’s _with_ him, and suddenly, a tall shadow is cast upon him.

Gon hears the men scream behind him, something that sounds like a combination of fear for the man and fear of the man, and Gon’s eyes widen as he manages to register one word among the crazed, senseless Yorbian being thrown across the room.

Killua.

Gon gulps; he recognizes the name. He had heard it over and over again in the army, screamed alongside a declaration of death, upstart soldiers promising that they would be the ones to take his life.

Killua, twenty-seventh emperor of Yorbia, uniter of Numere and Lukso, conqueror of the Mitene Union at the age of sixteen. 

Killua Men’hai Sayo Aluhei Zoeldeyk, son of Kikyo Ankuhei Zoeldeyk and Silva Masadra Zoeldeyk, emperor at twelve-years-old, leader of the seven armies, whose beauty could make men drop dead, who had the deadliest aim in the empire with a pointed gaze and an arrow in hand.

Killua Zoeldeyk – Gon had orders to kill him on sight.

Gon looks up.

His eyes dart everywhere. The emperor is covered head-to-toe in luxury. His dress is built of warmly-toned layers, and the fine golden embroidery sown into the hem of the crimson layer create a fiery dragon – the Yorbian symbol of absolute power. The golden lace is everywhere, in the cerulean tie around his waist and the shawl loosely draped over his shoulders, and Gon has to wonder if it’s real gold in the design – Azia was too poor for a simple foot-soldier to ever even see gold, let alone see it in anything as basic as clothing.  His collarbones are exposed by an elegant crescent-shaped underdress, neck long, shoulders perfectly set, stance so flawlessly in control Gon can’t look away. His skin is a pretty alabaster, his hair short and feathery, as white as the snow back in the summit of the mountain in his home of Wahel island – untouched.

Pure.

Undefiled.

Absolute.

Like he was born for royalty. The headdress suits him quite beautifully; white lilies frame the side of his head, the decorative ribbons falling gracefully down to his torso. Wooden ears – reserved for the listener of God, the one who would pave the way for humanity – protrude from the sides of his head, the ritual beads of purification hanging from each one. Jewels on his gold earrings, on his hands, behind his ears – Gon does not consider him beautiful.

It is too mundane a word.

His fingers move to open the silk fan in his hand, the movement so dignified Gon has to question his humanity.

He is ethereal.

Gon’s throat tightens.

He suddenly feels a pressure under his chin, barely registering that Killua had even moved at all, and he hears the guards’ voices pick up in the background as he feels his face pushed up by the wood of the fan.

Not deigning to touch him – Killua uses the tip of his fan to see Gon’s face better.

And then Killua –

 _Emperor Killua of Yorbia_ looks down.

And Gon looks into his eyes.

Something runs cold down the back of Gon’s spine as he stares into him, a sort of emptiness hollowing out inside of him as he sifts through the layers. His eyes are ice, as frigid and unrevealing as frost, as blue as zircon. Gon cannot call them empty – they are too full and too bright – but Gon can understand nothing, gather nothing, feel nothing from them. They remind him of the forests back home in their deceiving calmness, like the unbroken surface of a mirror-lake. He has the eyes of a wolf. Pointed, focused on a goal, unafraid, unfeeling. He does not hunt, and he does not fear – he knows that the snapping of his fingers will lead to the snapping of Gon’s neck, his power so habitual to him that he has the freedom to regard Gon with unseeing curiosity.

He has not removed his fan from Gon’s chin, and Gon is on his knees, barely being able to sit up long enough to be taller than Killua’s thighs.

Unchanging, Killua’s eyes focus, and his mouth is pursed into a fine line, considering his worth.

It makes his blood boil.

“Do your worst.” He says, raising his head high to look straight ahead – he will not bow to his enemy.

He knows that guards are already screaming at him – perhaps to threaten him or telling him to show some respect, ready to beat him again for even daring to speak to their Emperor, for daring to raise his head and look him in the eye, but he doesn’t care.

He’s not afraid.

Without sparing so much as a glance, Killua raises his other hand to stop them, effectively forcing them to leave the room with the motion. He focuses on Gon intensely, and Gon returns the stare with as much anger as he can manage with his hands tied behind his back – almost wishing to insult him.

“What are you waiting for?” He growls now, wanting to see the man grimace in offense and take a step back in disgust – anything but the violating scrutiny he is putting Gon under. Killua’s hand stays under his chin, and Gon barely registers his body moving at all – even his breathing is inhumanly invisible, and his lips remain pursed, eyes still looking down.

At him. On him.

Gon has had enough.

“Just get it _over_ with!” He gets up on his knees, challenging the emperor and wanting to stand up taller than him, but not having the strength to do so. Instead, he settles for more screams, the words echoing around the empty room. “Kill me already!”

Killua’s eyes shift to the left, refusing to see Gon.

The fan lowers.

Gon sees red.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Gon snarls, looking straight ahead, his teeth hurting from how much they’re grinding. He imagines what it would be like to be able to dye his hands red with the emperor’s blood – wonders if it’ll be blue – but then, just for a fraction of a second, the mask breaks. Gon registers shock on Killua’s face – an open mouth and widened, confused eyes. He even pulls his fan back behind his ears, eyeing him with an emotion Gon can’t quite identify. Suddenly, the emperor doesn’t look so polished.

However, it leaves as quickly as it came. Killua schools his face back into his usual expression – Empty, icy eyes that regard Gon with an interest akin to that when going to a circus that owns abused and exotic animals. Gon makes sure to keep his expression unchanged. If he’s going to be executed anyway, he’ll scream until he’s dead.

_“Fuck you!”_

The corner of the Emperor’s pursed lips pushed upwards, and his eyes squint for a mere second, a short-lived expression of childish delight lighting up his face.

Killua immediately snaps his fan open and covers his lips.

Gon wonders if he really does enjoy ending people’s lives that much – if he relishes in the power of Godhood. He also imagines how he would react if he could actually understand what he was saying. Although the image pleases Gon, he’s sure death would have been the last of his punishments.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. If Killua had truly been considering sparing him for any reason, his little outbursts had secured the royal signature on his death sentence.

So be it.

He was ready. Gon closes his eyes.

And just like that –

Killua Men’hai Sayo Aluhei Zoeldeyk, twenty-seventh emperor of Yorbia and soon-to-be Gon’s executioner, calls for his men – lips still hidden behind his fans as he issues his orders, bare back exposed to Gon as he turns and moves towards his throne.

Killua never looks back.

Gon shouts, and screams, and kicks, but just like he had expected, his freedom from the dungeon would be his last step into the world, and he would soon be taking his final breath. He doesn’t think about the things he did or didn’t do, about his fears, or about his country.

He doesn’t think about much at all.

Instead, he struggles.

As the doors open and soldiers rush into the room, kicking and punching and beating him with metal rods, Gon spares a thought for his aunt back home.

Killua raises his hand, not looking back – commanding.

A pressure on the back of his neck.

Gon shouts, but his consciousness still fades, and the last sound he hears is the thud of his own weight falling to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this Royal AU has been consuming me pretty much since I finished HxH. It is my favorite AU, and I've been meaning to write for it for a while now. I know that the political tag might turn some readers off, but I promise that it is not the most important element of the plot (although I would be lying if I said that a good chunk of the fic won't be dedicated to it). Anyway, I am really, really excited for this project, and I know my writing has taken a different turn from the usual sarcastic/snarky/humorous narrative, but I am so in love with this AU and Gon's POV and I hope you guys can enjoy the slow reveals and the twists that I have planned for it.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!!
> 
> P.S. I will be finishing Two Sides of the Same Coin before I update this one again, so please don't worry about that!  
> Additionally, if anyone wants to see what Killua and Gon look like here are [two](http://phospenumbra.tumblr.com/post/120321596911/royal-killua-release-me-from-this-hell) [examples](http://phospenumbra.tumblr.com/post/126232142476/phospenumbra-royal-killua-and-pow-gon-au) of my art on my tumblr. 
> 
> PS2. The Title is in Yorbian, so if it doesn't make sense, that's why!


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